I recently wrote an article called The Disguise of Contentment about life with illness and disabilities and how others look at seemingly healthy people who suffer from them. As I was writing it I simply wanted to share with people the other side of something of stereotyping.

If you’ve been reading my work for a while you know I don’t hold back. I only know how to write one way and that is personal. My site is primarily a place to release those thoughts in my mind, as I have put it in a previous article I call it Writing for Therapy.

I say all of this to make sure you understand to never look at anything I write as attention seeking or a pity party. I’m beyond all of that. Sometimes the pain gets to me and I just need to let the feelings out in words and by doing so I have discovered there are people out there who can relate. They find comfort in knowing they are not alone and that a person is productive and creative even while living with some really whacked out pain problems. (I apparently love the phrase ‘whacked out’.)

Just to clarify a bit of that previous article and its intent:

If you see a person with disabilities that are obvious you have the opportunity of choice; a) treat them just like anyone else, b) treat them with pity, which they don’t want, or c) be aware they may need assistance at times.

For someone appearing healthy, such as myself, those options aren’t there. What this brings me to is people with disabilities don’t want pity they just want to be understood. I know it’s difficult to understand in a brief encounter with someone, but the way to be is like me in a grocery store and asking for help. If I ask for help then I need it. If I park in a handicap spot and if my car has the right tags or permissions on it to do so then keep moving and don’t look at me like a criminal.

I personally don’t care. I’ve moved past what others think about me. My main mission is what I think about myself. If I am good with me then I’m all good period. But how will other people know if people like me don’t share experiences?

And remember, I’m the same guy that wrote about writer’s needing fluffy butt cushions and canaries. Just because there are some raw and honest work from me doesn’t mean that is what defines me. I’m a funny guy. Ask my other self, he’ll tell you.

He lies.

Shut up, Os.

If you see an article or poem that appears to be a pity poem or a sympathy seeker don’t think that. It’s just me releasing the only way I have available and in a way that I hope others can connect with and say “Yeah, that’s me too. I’m not alone.”